“I should introduce myself,” he says, unwrapping an arm from around one of the women next to him to reach out to her. “I’m Wolfgang, hence the slight accent you hear.”
I’m always Ricardo, and he’s always Wolfgang. It isn’t just to maintain a purely casual degree of separation with any flings we happen upon, it’s to avoid any connections between our home lives and our chosen profession, such as it is.
Diabla takes the hand he offers but maintains her strict code of silence. For once, I find it gratifying.
Ulrich turns to me, his brow slightly wrinkled in confusion.
“She’s a nun, taking a vow of silence.” I wonder if he notes the hint of cynicism in my voice.
A rush of satisfaction flows through me as she turns to pierce me with daggers in her eyes. I can only assume it’s because now all three pairs of eyes are boring into her with rabid curiosity.
“Like…a nun nun?” asks one of Ulrich’s cohorts, her mouth actually agape as she stares at Diabla. Her eyes scan the shapely brown legs, still wet with seawater, exposed all the way up to her hips, and sprinkled with white sand that might as well be a coating of sugar on two churros for how delectable they look.
“Well, you’ve obviously been busier than I have,” Ulrich says, shooting me a teasing grin. I can just picture the tawdry images floating through his head.
I can’t blame him; the same film of pure heresy has been a double feature in the cinema of my own mind since I first discovered this siren.
Her fingers play with the tiny cross hanging at her throat, which does absolutely nothing to reclaim her chastity. Even the two girls with Ulrich are practically salivating at the cocktail of sin presented before them. A nun, a gold cross, far too much exposed skin, a party of five, and Ibiza being…Ibiza? It has the makings of a very bad joke, or an especially tawdry porn flick.
“Very nice to meet you… Sister, is it?” he says, turning his attention back to the woman I’m with.
She swallows, then nods.
“Well, if you two change your mind, we’ll be around,” he says with a wink before turning to walk away with his two friends.
“That was unfortunate,” I mutter to myself in Spanish.
I turn to find Diabla’s eyes on me, suddenly fearful.
“Habla Español?”
She just swallows and looks after them with a wary gaze.
“Don’t be concerned, he’s trustworthy,” I say, mostly to keep her from worrying. People who are scared are unpredictable, and this one is as unpredictable as they come.
Although Ulrich and I have a tight relationship with each other, especially on the job, there is still that underlying hint of caution.
No honor among thieves, as the saying goes.
“It’s fine,” I say, this time mostly to reassure myself. “Let’s go. I think we could both use a siesta.”
She wordlessly follows me back to the scooter, the bra and shoes still in her hands. Once there, we both wipe as much sand off our feet as we can and slip into our shoes.
I get on first and right the bike, then start the engine and wait for her to join me. She climbs on back and, once again, holds on to me just enough to keep from falling off.
The wind blows through my damp hair as I head back up through the city. I’ll definitely still be taking a shower when I get back. After everything that’s happened today, I’ll need it.
It’s only once I’ve turned onto my street that my senses snap to attention. I stop the bike, noting something wrong as soon as we round the corner. My eyes scan the street, trying to mentally put my finger on what has me on edge.
A curious murmur sounds behind me, my passenger obviously wondering why I stopped.
“Something is off. I don’t know what.”
I feel her hands grip my waist tighter, and she presses into my back as she looks over my shoulder.
Although I still don’t find the source of my concern, I refuse to head down the street.
“We’re going,” I say, turning the scooter around to go back the way we came. Instead of heading to the city, I detour back to the isolated beach where we arrived. I park the bike on the side of the road, well out of view.
“Stay here.”
Her eyes go wide with protest, and I hold up one finger to stop her.
She seethes but settles back down on the seat, sticking one foot out to lean with the bike.
I wander down toward the beach, keeping hidden behind the rocky cliffside until I have a good view of my boat. It’s just as I left it, with no sign of anyone having boarded it. I wait long enough to satisfy myself that maybe the coast is clear.
It’s only when I drag my eyes away from the boat that I see them. Several footprints in the sand, almost matching those that the woman and I left this morning.
Except these are headed toward the water.
Chapter Eighteen Leira
When he comes back, his brow is far more furrowed than it was before.
I look at him with widened eyes, as though to ask what the hell is going on. He just gives me one hard look that shuts down any inquiries, even those of the silent type.
That’s enough to bring back the same sense of dread I felt when he stopped at the end of his street.
Is it this friend of his? Wolfgang?
He seemed harmless enough, if perhaps an obvious playboy. But Ricardo didn’t seem thrilled to run into him, and it seemed like it mostly had to do with my being present.
Who the heck are these guys?
Could Wolfgang have figured out who I am? Made a call that quickly?
I’m still mostly clueless about what my father’s involvement is with the people who took my sisters. Do they have the kind of resources that could have people in place here in Ibiza?
“We’ll have to get the ferry out of here,” Ricardo says just before getting
